


A Dangerous Liaison

by fredbassett



Series: A Dangerous Liaison (The Musketeers - 2014) [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treville is annoyed and Athos is unrepentant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dangerous Liaison

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Series 1 Episode 4.

“And make your apology a good one. Report to me in my office when it’s done,” Treville said, keeping his voice quiet and as controlled as possible. When Athos was in this sort of mood, fighting fire with fire was unwise in the extreme.

Athos turned on his heel, his expression giving nothing away, and stalked off.

Treville knew Athos well enough to be sure that the man was strung as tight as a bowstring, but what he didn’t know was what had provoked the bout of near-murderous rage that the musketeer had unleashed during the duel. Treville had expected a great deal more finesse and considerably more diplomacy. He just hoped that the apology he’d ordered would be delivered with something approaching civility, although knowing Athos as he did, Treville couldn’t be sure of that.

Taking his leave of the king, Treville retired to his office to await Athos’ return. In less time than he’d hoped, he heard the sound of boot heels striking the floor of the long corridor that led to his rooms. If the sound was anything to go by, Athos’ mood had not improved.

Treville deliberately kept his eyes on the papers on his desk as Athos stalked into the room, no doubt with a face as unyielding as that of an avenging angel.

“Shut the door. And if you slam it, I swear I’ll personally flay the skin off your back.”

For a long moment, Treville wondered if he was going to have to have to make good on that threat, but eventually, the door rattled into place, not quite hard enough to be termed a slam, but not gently enough to signal contrition.

But then Athos and contrition were not words oft heard in the same sentence.

Treville laid his hands flat on the desk and stood up. Athos was still dishevelled from the duel, the neck of his shirt open, betraying a hint of dark hair beneath. His hair was damp with sweat and his eyes were like two dark pebbles set in a face that might as well have been chiselled from marble for all that it was giving away.

“Why?” Treville demanded.

Athos stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on a point on the wall just behind Treville’s left ear.

“Did you intend to start a fucking war, you young idiot?”

Athos’s gaze didn’t waver, but nor did he deign to answer.

Treville slapped his hand on the desk in frustration. It was a safer option than using his hand against Athos. The musketeer was without a doubt the most dangerous man in the regiment. Treville still reckoned he had a chance of taking him, but it wasn’t something he wanted to put to the test. Not unless it really was unavoidable.

It was time to apply alternative methods of loosening the man’s tongue. Treville pulled a flagon and two glasses from under his desk. He slopped deep amber liquid into both and pushed one across the desk.

“Drink it. You look like you need it.”

Athos took the bait. He raised the drink to his nose and took a sniff. “Your finest cognac?” The words were delivered in an ill-disguised sneer, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Treville snorted. “No, it’s as rough as a badger’s arse. Why would I waste anything better on you?”

Athos put the glass to his lips, drained the spirit like a parched man and slammed the thick glass back on the desk. Treville refilled it. They’d played this game before. Athos had the hardest head for alcohol that Treville had ever known, and for an uneasy moment it crossed his mind that Athos might not have been entirely sober during the duel. It was not a thought he cared to dwell on.

Treville took a mouthful of the brandy and felt it burn a fiery trail down to his gullet. Normally he would never drink on duty, but he needed to handle Athos carefully and was prepared to take what small advantage he could gain.

“Did he accept your apology?”

“So it would appear.” Athos met his eyes for the first time since he’d entered the office. The musketeer’s stare was as cold as a maiden’s grave and Treville fought hard to suppress the shiver that seemed determined to advance down his spine.

“Good. The king needs the duke’s signature on that treaty.”

“And he’ll get it.” Athos downed the second glass slightly more slowly then placed it back on the desk with exaggerated carefulness.

“You can pour your own, I’m not your damned servant.”

A swift grin lit Athos’ dark countenance, like the sun shining briefly through lowering cloud. “You’d not be so free with your liquor if it was worth drinking.”

“If it was worth drinking, I wouldn’t allow you and it to be together in the same room.” Treville took a large mouthful of his own drink and swallowed it slowly, never taking his eyes of Athos’ face. There was still a fire smouldering beneath the surface, but some of the wanton danger had started to bleed out of his lieutenant.

Athos poured himself another, his hand still rock steady, even though the post-combat high must by now be draining from him, leaving behind the shakiness that Treville had experienced more times than he cared to remember and now knew all too well how to disguise. And Athos had learnt the same lessons to perfection. But Treville knew Athos’s Achilles heel and had no compunction in exploiting it. Life was too short to fight wars he was unsure of winning, so evening the odds a little was simply prudent management.

“Are you going to tell me what provoked your loss of countenance back there?”

The silence that greeted his words told him that a third of a flagon of spirits had not been enough to loosen Athos’ tongue.

Treville walked around the desk and took Athos by the shoulders. He could feel muscles corded from tension and smell the brandy on Athos’ breath, mixed with the sharp musk of his sweat.

“I’ll say it again, in case you didn’t hear me the first time. It was your duty to beat him, not start a fucking war.”

“In the interests of accuracy, mon capitaine, you did not say fucking the first time.” The ghost of a smile quirked Athos’ lips.

“The queen was present the first time,” Treville said.

He ran his fingers through Athos’s damp hair and pulled his head forward. Athos’s lips were hard and unyielding under his. He stood as still as a statue while Treville tangled his fingers in his hair and kissed him. Treville took the fact that his legs hadn’t been swept from under him as acquiescence.

A moment later, Athos’ mouth opened under his and he was kissing Treville back with all the ferocity he’d displayed in his swordfight against the duke. It was the first step on the way to breaking the dangerous tension that had shrouded the man for the past day.

Explanations could come later. For the moment, Treville was prepared to take a small victory.

The war could wait.


End file.
